Jamie
by I Like Cinnamon Rolls
Summary: With him, he was never alone. Some short memoirs of Jamie's life.


He remembered the first time he saw _him_. Jamie Bennett. It was his first day of school, and he was crying while his mother tried to soothe him by stroking his hair. Jack had sat there, on the fence, watching wistfully for a while, lost in thoughts. What he would give to be _him._ He had always wanted a family. A family that loved and cared for him, that fussed over his clothes every morning, that told him stories by the fire, that stroked his hair when he was sad. That made him feel sure that he _wasn't_ invisible to _anyone_ and would never be. He sighed. Wishful thinking. He picked up his staff and stood up, calling for the wind to carry him to his pond, where he always went when he felt lonely. There, the wind would stroke his hair and the ice and snow he'd created would keep him company, and he'd pretend that he was in a world where he wasn't a spirit, was never invisible.

* * *

He saw _him_ again a few years later, laughing and playing with his friends in the beautiful snow that he'd created. He was proud of his snow. It was pretty, and it was fun, and it would always be there for him. Jack had played with them for a while, starting a snowball fight and taking Jamie out on a sled ride. _That_ was cool. He almost felt like part of the group, even. And then Jamie noticed that a tooth of his had fallen out, and he and his friends started walking off, chattering about the Tooth Fairy. And he was alone again.

He should have left it at that. He wasn't supposed to go around following the kid like a pervy old man. Jack shuddered at the thought. It was a pretty cute kid, but_ that_ was really not his cup of tea. He couldn't really help it, though. He just seemed to gravitate towards _him_ everywhere he went. So, eventually, he just dealt with his urge to stalk. It wasn't like he could be seen, anyway.  
His stalking mojo was soon broken, however, by the shock of being shoved into a sack, thrown into a magic portal, and being told that he had been chosen as a magical protector of children by a big shiny ball in the sky. The Pitch issue didn't really help. He still stalked the kid, however, just with significantly less mojo. It was better that way, anyway.  
So imagine his surprise when he realized that Jamie was the last child on Earth to believe in the Guardians. Huh. Maybe all that stalking actually _would_ come in handy. He had rushed off to visit Jamie, arriving just in time to see him lose faith in Bunny. That wasn't good. Lucky for him, Jack had used his cool magic snow powers to give the kid a sign, just enough for him to believe again.  
Jack had expected Jamie to believe. He just didn't expect for the kid to believe in _him_. He felt like doing backflips in the room. He felt like starting a mariachi band with the Guardians. He felt like bungee-jumping off the Statue of Liberty. But instead, he kept his cool.  
"You can see me?" He squealed, rather girlishly.  
Yep. Completely cool.

* * *

They had been best friends ever since. It took years for Jack to put his complete trust in the Guardians. It took even longer for him to start thinking of them as his _family_. But with Jamie, it was different. From the first time he'd interacted with him, on that sled ride, Jack had looked at him like he was his little brother. He was never lonely with _him_. They would pelt snowballs at bullies together. They would draw crude pictures of their adventures together. They would ride the wind, soaring high above the city together. They would spend the day indoors, baking brittle, unpalatable cookies together. Together. Together._ Together_.  
Jack made sure to say the word until it lost its meaning. It was so foreign and so familiar at the same time. He spent a perpetual amount of time saying it, thinking it. Sometimes, while he and Jamie were together (_together together together_) he would just say the word, out of nowhere. He was pretty sure Jamie was sick of it by now, but he didn't care. They were_ together,_ and that's all that mattered.

* * *

Jamie had always loved skating. Jack found out about it the winter after Pitch's short reign, when Jamie ran up to him one day with two pairs of shiny new skates and a big smile. It made him feel sick to his gut. Jamie's elated grin just made it worse. There was no way he was going to set one foot on the ice as long as Jack was there to protect him. Jack had hidden his horror, ushering Jamie inside, ignoring the complaints.  
Jamie went up to him with the same request the next day. And the next. And the next, until Jack finally snapped. He firmly grabbed the boy's shoulders, shaking him as he told him that he was _never_ in his life going to _ever_ skate on that pond as long as Jack was around. He thought it was a bit harsh, but it didn't matter. He was _not_ going to lose Jamie like he almost lost his sister. He would never let _anyone_ go like that ever again. He turned and flew over to the pond right after he said that, leaving Jamie with his mouth agape. Jack couldn't go around convincing every child in a half-kilometre radius, but what he could do was make sure that the ice was at least a metre thick. Preferably more.  
Jamie had never said a word about it to him or anyone else over the next few months. He never went skating, either. Good. The dispute wasn't mentioned until summertime, after the two boys had eaten a copious amount of ice cream to cool off. Jamie had cuddled up to his wonderfully chilly friend (and no, he wasn't ashamed to say that he was _cuddling_) and the question just slipped out from nowhere. Jack tensed. He didn't want to tell him _now,_ he wasn't ready. Jamie didn't even need to know _now_. He did want to tell him someday, but today didn't seem to fit into that category.  
He lifted an icy hand to stroke the boy's hair. "I'm just scared of you slipping and sliding into a tree, with your clumsiness. That's all," he said. He was sure that Jamie knew it was a lie, but he only hummed in response, so he guessed it was good enough for now.

* * *

"Jamie! Jaaamie!" Jack called out as he swung in through the window, like he always did. He was expecting to find him doodling, or doing his homework, or playing with his planes or something that he usually did. He never expected to find him on his bed, crying.  
"Jamie?" He called again as he ran over to the boy's bedside. "What's wrong, Jamie?"  
"My mom- I asked her- She said- She said I couldn't dye my hair white," he said in between sniffs.  
Jack looked slapped. "What?"  
"She said- She said it wasn't- It wasn't good," Jamie sobbed. "She said it would make me look like a delinquent."  
Jack was horrified. _His_ amazing, dashing, endlessly charming white hair was being insulted by _Stuckup MsBoringhead_?  
A grim expression crossed his features. "Well then, we'd just have to do something about it."  
He never got to see the look on Stuckup Msboringhead's face when she found her son the next morning with a full head of snow-white hair. Bummer.

* * *

"You said you were _good_ at baking!"  
"I did not, I only said I _could_."  
Jamie let out a frustrated noise. "Yes you did! I can clearly remember you, three hours ago, floating above my couch with that look on your face, saying 'I know what you could do! Bake her some cinnamon rolls! I'll help, three hundred years of experience has made me a _god_ when it comes to baking, she'll fall in love with you for _sure_!'" He mocked, putting on a high-pitched, sing-songy voice as his Jack imitation.  
"Hey, that's not that I sound like."  
"Stop trying to change the subject!"  
"Okay, okay," Jack help his hands up in defeat. "In my defense, I never_ technically_ said I was good."  
"Yes you did!"  
"No I didn't!"  
"You said you were like a god, with is even _worse_!"  
"I didn't say I was _good_, though!"  
Jamie ran his hand through his hair and let out a sigh. "Whatever. What's done is done. What's more important now is, how do we clean this mess?" He gestured to the wasteland of goo that used to he his kitchen.  
Jack looked at Jamie. Then at the kitchen. Then back at Jamie. Then at the nice-looking painting above the couch. It was pretty. He should get one of those to hang on his tree sometime. Then he mentally slapped himself. Then he looked back at Jamie.  
He shrugged. "I dunno."  
Jamie slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. "My best friend is a bleeding _retard_."

* * *

The hustle and bustle of students sounded through the halls. Nothing stopped, everything went. It was like a swarm of bees, and the enormous building they were in was the hive. Jack had taken to just following Jamie in the air above his head. It was kind of annoying being walked through fifty times per second.  
"Are you sure you can't just drop out and be homeschooled?" Jack whined. "This is making my head hurt."  
Jamie rolled his eyes. "No. And I'm not even sure if it's _possible _to drop out on your first day, anyway."  
"Yes it is! You just leave, and we can go home to play Call of Duty or something."  
Jamie rolled his eyes yet again, letting out an exasperated sigh. "If you haven't noticed, there's staff at every door. Some people take high school very seriously. And even if we do make it out, the principal would just call my mom and we'd be back by the end of next period."  
Jack pouted. "I could make duplicates of us out of ice?"  
"I think they'd notice, considering that we'd be blue and transparent. And people would be weirded out by the random guy hovering above my blue head."  
"They're not weirded out now."  
"That's because they're old enough not to see you. I'm just strange."  
"Oh."  
They spent the rest of the journey to Biology class in silence, Jack sulking and looking very much like a ghost, taking into account his hunched form, deathly pale skin, and the fact that he was floating.

A shrill scream echoed through the hallway. Jamie looked up from his schoolwork. Uh-Oh. Jack had left a couple of minutes ago, brooding over who knows what, but now that Jamie looked back on it, it did seem very suspicious. His biology professor ran outside to check on the commotion. All of the students in the class were whispering about their suspicions. Except for Jamie. Jamie just sat there, face pale as snow. A hushed conversation seemed to be happening outside the classroom before the victim seemed to break.  
"Some_ froze_ my _bra_! While I was _wearing_ it! How is this even _possible_?" She shrieked, voice breaking.  
A loud laugh erupted from the class. Some students seemed to be trying not to cry, clutching their stomachs and clinging onto their desks. All were laughing except for Jamie, who sunk lower and lower in his seat.  
He was going to kill him.

* * *

"What's with Jessie and her obsession with cinnamon rolls, anyway?"  
"First of all, her name is _Julie._ Second of all, what's with you and _your_ obsession with cookies?"  
Jack let out an indignant shriek, face twisted in horror. "How could you _say_ that? Cookies are _delicious_!"  
Jamie raised an eyebrow. "See my point?"  
Jack faltered. "Oh. Yeah...but cookies are way better than cinnamon rolls. I actually have an excuse to be obsessed with them."  
Jamie gave an eye-roll as he handed Jack another pile of Pillsbury Cinnamon Roll Dough tubes. His arms were overflowing by now.  
"How many cinnamon rolls does this girl _need?_" He asked weakly, struggling not to drop all of them.  
"It's not all for her. I'm baking some for her friend, too," he said, placing a couple more tubes at the top of the small mountain Jack was holding. He gave him a wide grin before starting towards the checkout line. "Come on, we've got to hurry if we're going to get these done in time."  
Jack yelped and walked as fast as he could with all the cinnamon rolls in his arms, which wasn't very fast. He unceremoniously plunked the blue tubes down on the conveyor belt once he got there, giving no heed to the protesting customer that was before him in the line. Well, used to be, anyway. Jamie, the ungrateful little brat, was just standing there on the other side of the checkout lane, hands in his pockets, wearing a lopsided grin. _Demon child._  
The cashier gave Jack a strange look but said nothing, checking his items out and bagging them as quickly as the poor soul could. Jack hastily handed her a hundred-dollar note, not caring for change. He just wanted to get_ out_ of here. This place was seriously giving him the creeps.  
"I just don't get why we can't just make them from scratch. I could help you, have I ever told you that-"  
"_NO_."

* * *

Fear. Pain.  
Jack took a step forward, stepping in the puddle of dark red that was seeping out from under a familiar body. Spots of black clouded his vision, making his head whirl. It was like he was falling, falling, and there was no end. He could barely comprehend what was happening around him. There was Toothiana fluttering towards the body, lips moving. He couldn't seem to hear a word, it was like a dreamless haze. There was North, taking the cap off the top of his head and holding it towards his chest. There was Sandman and the Easter Bunny, both looking at him in concern. He didn't care. He was teetering on the edge, half-wanting cold, cold murder of whatever _monster_ would do this and half-wanting to curl up and cry until there were no tears left. He was vaguely aware of a sharp pain in the palm of his hand, where he had his fist balled so tightly his nails broke through his skin. He was cold, numb, completely devoid of feeling and he was having his insides clawed out from his body at the same time. He simultaneously blissfully unaware of his surroundings and screaming out in the sheer horror of the moment. And then he was clawing at his own neck, his chest, desperate to just have some proof that this was a dream, that this wasn't real. He wouldn't draw blood. Blood meant reality. He never got the chance to prove anything, though. It was probably better that way. He would pull his hand back and see cold, dark blood and his world would come shattering all around him and it would be just like the pain of being alone just _worse_ because he had_ finally_ found solace in his _miserable_ life and now it was gone. Because before he ever got to feel any of the _pain_ that he _deserved_ for not being careful enough and for taking sweet, sweet little Jamie for far too granted and for just_ standing_ there doing _nothing_ while he let _something_ like _this_ happen to him, the dark (_dark eyes dark hair dark blood_) cobwebs of ice that were surrounding his feet broke and he was falling in, into the dark and this was all too familiar but it wasn't because this time he had_ failed_.  
"Jack, Jack!"  
Jack shot up on the bed, eyes wide with shock and terror. He was too scared to look beside him, raw fear climbing up his insides, but he did anyway. He felt all of the air that he was holding in flow out of him along with all his thoughts and fears when he saw the face he was so desperate to see, brown hair falling into brown eyes. He fell back on the bed, exhausted.  
A dream. It was a dream.  
Searching, a_live_ eyes scanned his face. "What's wrong? You fell asleep on the bed and I thought it'd be nice to bring you breakfast," he held up a plate of waffles. "but you had this weird pained expression on your face so I called your name and you didn't get up so I was just about to slowly back away and call the hospital but then you got up and here I am explaining all this to you," Jamie babbled.  
Jack looked up at him with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's alright, just a bad dream."  
Jamie grinned and hugged him before getting up with proclamations that he needed to pee.  
When Jack saw him turn around the corner, his fake smile fell off his face. He could almost hear Pitch's ominous voice from the hole he fell through, echoing inside his head. _You are loyal, Jack Frost. That makes you strong. But it also makes you weak.  
_Looks like the nightmares had a feast tonight.

* * *

Jack stumbled towards the kitchen, struggling to support his own weight. He felt weak. He _was_ weak. He felt like he was carrying North himself on his back. And what's worse was that he had a very, very bad headache. As he floundered around, arms flailing wildly, hoping to feel the familiar granite countertops that lined the kitchen, he somehow managed to hit his head against some_ wall_ or _doorframe_ or _piece of large furniture_ or whatever. Wonderful. Now he was weak, exhausted, headache-ridden, and to top it all off, had a bloody nose. When his hands finally found the sweet,_ sweet_, cool, familiar granite he was searching for, he gave out a sigh of relief and flicked the switch up against the wall. Expecting nice, warm light to flood the room, he flinched at the loud churning noise he got instead and _who the bleeding hell came up with the idea to put the garbage disposal right next to the light switch?  
_This really wasn't his day.  
He slapped the wall until the churning stopped, this time flicking the_ right_ switch. He frantically searched the cupboards, not caring for the noise of the little doors slamming. Right now all he needed was _ibuprofen damn ibuprofen where was the blasted ibuprofen. _He was ecstatic when he finally opened the door of their medicine storage, desperately sorting through the bottles. He couldn't believe it.  
_They had no advil. How could they have no god-damned advil?_  
They didn't have any of that acetamawhatever stuff either. Or aspirin. _What the hell was wrong with this family?_  
He decided on the next best thing. Grabbing the box of cookies nearby, he dumped some out on the counter. He was going to_ eat these cookies_ no matter what. There was only one issue.  
_He forgot how to eat cookies._  
How could he forget how to eat _cookies_? He probably ate around twenty a day without any problems. In fact, cookies were the _only_ thing he ate. But, for some reason, he couldn't find the correct cookie-eating procedure in the foggy haze that was his brain. Oh well, he'd just have to wing it. He grabbed a knife from its stand and started chop and crush the cookies until they formed a crumby powder. He looked down at his work. Okay, that didn't seem right. He set his knife down and started to squish the crumbs together until they formed a giant cookie ball. Now_ that_ seemed normal. Satisfied with his work and happily nibbling at his tasty ball of deliciousness, he started to walk out of the kitchen when he stopped in his tracks at the sight of a familiar face.  
Jamie was standing right in front of him, gaping.  
"Jack?" He questioned, blinking his eyes a couple of times to make sure he wasn't dreaming.  
Jack took one hand out from under his cookie ball and gave a little wave. A long silence followed.  
"You're an idiot, Jack."

* * *

They sat in comfortable silence, sitting on Jamie's porch under a couple of umbrellas, shielding themselves from the blazing sun. Abby was stretched out over both of their laps, wagging her tail in contentment. Two cans of soda lay on the table next to a stack of magazines belonging to Jamie's mother. Two pairs of legs stretched out under the table, both pale, both skinny. Two boys lounging on beach chairs, reading. Nothing sounded except for the chirping of the birds and the turn of pages.  
Jamie looked up from his chemistry textbook (_nerd_) to see Jack closing his magazine and setting it down on the table, picking up another issue of _Cosmopolitan_ from the stack. He shook his head and went back to reading chemistry book, silently chuckling to himself.

* * *

Jack had never touched alcohol again after the cookie incident, which he had now taken to calling The Debacle. Screw angsty novels and their liquor-loving protagonists. He would just knit socks or something whenever Bunny got on his nerves. Which was what he was doing now. Purl one, twirl two. Purl one, twirl two. This was actually pretty soothing. Apart from the fact that he kept on accidentally frosting over all the new stitches.  
His beautiful sock-knitting was interrupted by a loud_ crash_. He looked up to see Tooth on one of the branches above him, straightening out her feathers. She swung her head around in search of him before finding him and flying down to where he sat.  
"Oh, Jack, I just wanted to see if you were safe, I mean, I know-" She stopped, catching sight of his half-knitted sock. "_What_ are you doing?"  
Jack looked down. "Uhmmm..."  
Tooth just shook her head in the twitchy way that she did. "Nevermind that. I was just coming to check if you were okay. Bunny can be infuriating at times, I know, but you learn to love him."  
Jack sighed, putting his needles down. "Yeah, I guess. But I'm as bored as hell right now. I was going to show Jamie this cool new trick I learned, but he's out with his creepy girlfriend today for her birthday. You know what he made me do the other day? We went to the store and he-"  
"Jamie has a _girlfriend_?" Tooth asked, cutting Jack off, excitement and wonder in her voice. "And it's her _birthday_?" She seemed to have come up with an idea. Now it was just excitement. Oh, no.  
"Come on, we have to make her a gift! I'm sure I can spare a few mini fairies to help. This is so exciting!" She clapped her hands and spun around, squealing before she looped her arms under Jack's armpits, lifting him up into the air. And ignoring his protests. Fairies these days.

Jack felt like a hummingbird. He suddenly felt a large amount of sympathy for them. This was exhausting. He was flying around at the speed of light, sniffing things and twittering around with other hummingbirds. Tooth had insisted that they make her a tooth fairy dress for Jessica or Jane or whatever her name was. What even _was_ a tooth fairy dress? He was too busy being a hummingbird to check up on it. He'd see it when it was done, anyway. And of course, Tooth also had to come up with the idea that they make it smell like _cinnamon rolls_, too. It was supposed to get her to stop eating them or something because they were bad for her teeth. Jack rolled his eyes at the thought of that. Yeah, right. Like that would help. The girl consumes around fifty tubes of Pillsbury Cinnamon Rolls a week. Then, a thought occurred to him as a look of horror crossed his face.  
"WAIT!" He yelled, effectively stopping the group of mini fairies mid-stitch.  
"What if she's fat?" He half-asked, half-wailed, desperately.  
The mini fairies exchanged a few glances. They then moved away from the creation, revealing a beautiful, iridescent, feathery dress, complete with a cloak. On a tooth.  
Jack blinked. Wait, what?  
Just then, Tooth came up from behind him and ran her finger over the tooth. "Your first baby tooth is a beautiful thing. It signifies the future, the memories and dreams that are yet to come. I've had the idea to make something like this for a long time, it's just that the opportunity never arose. Of course, it's not her actual baby tooth. That's locked safely in my towers." Tooth gave Jack what she thought was a reassuring smile. It just freaked him out even more. What kind of idea was _that?_  
"Then...what _is_ that, then?" He asked, gesturing to the tooth sitting on the stand.  
"One of your teeth."  
His hand shot up to his cheek, almost accidentally slapping himself. So_ that's_ why it was so white.  
Tooth laughed. "No, it's not really. It's just a replica. No teeth stolen."  
Jack narrowed his eyes. Oh, she was getting good.

* * *

Flowers smelled nice. He stuck his nose in them, breathing in the sweet scent of their nectar, humming in satisfaction. He shot his head up to look for his comrade, twitching around until he set his beady eyes on him. He was about to let a chirp when he suddenly stopped.  
_What_ was he _doing?  
_Jack sighed. Probably still in the hummingbird mood.

* * *

"Nanananananana Batman!"  
Jack stood on his toes on top of the balcony railing overlooking the streets of downtown Cambridge, Massachusetts. The wind ruffled his hair, the sounds of city life running through the streets below. He closed his eyes to the sweet smell of car engine exhaust and smoke pollution. This was nice. He opened his eyes again to his friend, standing beside him, giving him an incredulous look.  
"Oh, shut up," Jack snorted before Jamie could comment, twirling off the railing and landing on the floor with a flourish. Honestly, you'd expect him to start doing pliés and toe-touches anytime soon. He leaned forward against the railing, looking at the wide expanse of blue over the city skyline, the sharp cut of buildings' gray, merging with the orange of autumn leaves on the streets below. It really was a pretty sight.  
"This is a really nice apartment you've got here," Jack grinned. "Almost makes up for you getting into MIT and ditching me."  
"Oh, _come on._ There aren't even any universities in Burgess, much less a good one." Jamie couldn't help but smile, too. "A guy's got to dream."  
Jack didn't say anything, just let out a good-natured huff and rolled his eyes, still smiling, secretly wishing that Jamie would realize how stupid he was being and come back to him.  
They stood there, looking out over the city in peaceful silence, letting all the words unsaid flow free, into the air.  
Sometimes, the wordless conversations were the best.

* * *

Jack's visits came less and less now. The travel from his home to Jamie's was no longer a thirty-second ride. Daily turned into weekly, and the number kept on dropping. Travelling long distances too often always took it's toll on both Jack and the wind, and it was starting to show. Jack was both physically and mentally exhausted. Jamie had urged him to rest, told him that it would be okay, promised that he'd never lose faith. Weekly turned into monthly. He was there for his graduation, and for his marriage. Watched_ him_ grow old while he stayed young. Watched his children play on the streets, watched the curious, doe-eyed child he'd met all those years ago turn into a brilliant chemistry professor. Watched him slowly lose interest. Watched _him_ slowly, slowly get too old for him. Weekly turned into monthly, and monthly turned into never. Jack would always visit dutifully, the third Sunday of every month. Jamie would always smile and greet him, always slightly less enthusiastic than the month before, until he never greeted him at all. Jack wanted to ball his fists up in anger, punch him in the face, scream at him for being so blind when he had always been right in front of his face, for not keeping his end of the promise, for _not believing_. He wanted to sob, curl up on the ground next to his feet, beg him for forgiveness, to forgive him for not being there, for being so stupid as to think that he'd never grow up, _never stop believing_.  
Jack would visit anyway, as normal, the third Sunday of every month. Even if he couldn't be seen. Even if his words were now dead air to Jamie's ears. Even if his old friend walked through him as if he wasn't there. He would visit anyway, because it made him feel less hopelessly _alone_, because part of him still wanted to pretend, to believe, that they were, and always, best friends, that the first person that had accepted him still did.

* * *

He would visit every month, on every third Sunday. He watched him every month, on every third Sunday. Watched his hair thin and grow white, like his own. Watched his children grow up just as he did, leaving him just as he did to Jack. Watched him grow sicker and frailer. Watched him being led to a hospital bed, watched him get hooked up to numerous monitors and devices. Watched him slowly, slowly start to fade away. Watched him until the one day Jamie opened his eyes while Jack was watching him sleep, the one day Jamie ever looked directly at him since he stopped believing.  
"You never left, did you?" He asked, softly, same eyes, same voice. The only difference was a haunting frailty to the sound of him speaking.  
Jack wanted to be mad. Wanted to yell at him, ask him why he would _ever_ stop believing in him, why he chose _now_ to start again. Jack expected to feel petrifying shock, expected to feel overjoyed, expected to feel something _normal._  
Instead, he just felt calm. The calm he used to always feel when he was with Jamie, back when they were still happy, laughing children. Instead, he just felt like they were best friends again, laughing over stupid, noncoherent things.  
"No, I didn't," he replied with a soft smile at his old friend.  
Jamie smiled back, the way he always did. And then he pulled him down, finally being able to pull him down, onto the bed into a hug, the way they always did.  
"I'm sorry," Jamie whispered against his hair. He clutched the perpetually young teenager to his chest, held him until slowly, slowly, he wasn't.  
Jack picked his best friend's arms from off his bed and carefully set them back on the bed. He stood there, staring down at him like he was before this moment had happened, and it was the exact same and the exact opposite at the same time because Jamie was gone from him but he _wasn't_ and he was alone again but not _lonely_. He stood there, staring down at him until a nurse walked in to do his checkups, until the sounds of her shrieking echoed through the room. It was only then that he slipped out of the room, out of the hospital and called for the wind to carry him away, carry him away with Jamie by his side, just like it always was.

* * *

_Written by Cinna._

_In my opinion, the only pairing cuter than Jack Frost and his little sister is Jack Frost and Jamie Bennett. In a platonic way, of course. Anything else would just be creepy. And the only things tastier than cookies are cinnamon rolls. Sorry, cookie fans. I'm team cinnamon roll.  
Just to clear some things up...  
I wrote this while I was entertaining the thought of Jack Frost being a bird. As you can see.  
In my head, the nightmares that Pitch had 'created' weren't Pitch's creations at all, just fear that had been harnessed by him. They never died with him, because they were never his to begin with.  
In my head, Jack is rooted to his hometown, and the lake that he died in. He can't leave it for too long; he would usually just travel around to cause some mischief and make a couple of blizzards before flying back.  
__I left a How I Met Your Mother reference in here, too. See if you can find it._

_p.s. Dear Rain, _  
_I left you a little surprise. I assume you've already seen it since you're reading this right now. I don't actually think you're fat. Please try not to kill me. I'm baking you cinnamon rolls for Christmas, for gosh's sake._  
_Love, Cinna_


End file.
